Pretty Pheonix

Chapter 21 | Consequences

Yikes, this Brian had a hard life.

"He was just trying to get a cup of almond milk." He heaves out a deflated sigh. "The skin care thing would be a life-saving cure. Since it worked on oldies, I know it'll definitely help Brian."

All the pity I had went out the window.

"Since it worked on oldies, I know it'll definitely help Brian..."

This fart—Oldies! Is that what he grouped me into? If he had left the last sentence out, I might've considered telling; key words "might've considered", but no. This son of a snitch just called someone half his age an elderly person! What a nut!

Without a second thought, I shut the door in his face.

Normally I wouldn't care about what other people thought about me, and I really don't just as long as they didn't insult my skills, which in this case was my makeup applying skills.

I snort in annoyance, adjusting the stone box in my arms and walk to Falcon's room.

My muscles relax once the hefty weight of the package lands at the foot of his door. Did he actually order a microwave oven for himself? I muse quizzically and nudge the box with my foot just as the front door opens and Falcon walks in.

His expression is a combination of amusement and cockiness at first, but when he sees my action, he immediately hisses, "what're you doing?!"

My cheeks grow red at being caught, but I quickly calm down and roll my eyes, "isn't it obvious? I'm adjusting it's position so it's closer to your door." I push the corner of the box in with the side of my foot innocently. "See? All better now."

He doesn't look convinced, but I honestly couldn't care less. I swiftly turn around to go back to my room. "I had dinner out, so unless you're up to cook, order something."

"Mhm. I heard about that."

Finding that weird, I stop and look at him over my shoulder in puzzlement, my hand wrapped around the doorknob.

"You heard what?"

A small, knowing smirk forms on his lips, "that you had dinner with the Royals. Looks like a Pheonix really can't keep away from treasure, huh?"

My breath is caught in my throat as a wave of questions engulfs me and I wonder if he's been keeping tabs on me. "How do you know I was with the Royals?" I question.

I was sure no one saw me. I swear by it. I—no. One of my brows ticks in annoyance.

"Going by your reaction, I assume you've answered your own question. Remember the basics of the handbook Little Chicken; everyone talks."

Right. Everyone does talk. I know the Royals won't say anything, but the workers will. This tattletale could've been the waiter or the receptionist, but with how uninterested the waiter looked, the culprit was definitely the young receptionist.

Gah! I feel a headache coming up.

I lift my hand up to stop him from continuing further and walk into my room, shutting the door behind me. I really can't get a break, can I?